


Blossom

by WendyNerd



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Half-Sibling Incest, Pseudo-Incest, Puberty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:30:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WendyNerd/pseuds/WendyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt:</p><p>Jon/Sansa- AU, where what you hinted at in "Trials" about Jon's inappropriate feelings towards Sansa as kids, eventually evolved into something more extreme happening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blossom

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Bluecichlid for her beta-work!

There were two things that could bring the children of Winterfell all together for fun. One was a summer snow. The second was swimming.

In the water, Jon wasn’t the bastard half-brother who didn’t quite fit. He was just Jon. Robb wasn’t the grand heir to Winterfell, he was a boy like any other. Theon wasn’t the swaggering hostage. Arya wasn’t the rebellious troublemaker or Bran just a baby. They were just Arya and Bran. Sansa wasn’t the proper, demure, perfect little lady that was too refined for wrestling in the mud and couldn’t get along with her sister. She was just Sansa.

Teaching Sansa, age three at the time, how to swim was one of the first things Jon ever got to teach anyone. It made him feel good and useful, not just like the “bastard.” It was one of the first times he realized he could help others. He taught his other siblings to swim too. Robb and Theon were not good teachers… They didn’t always explain everything and he lost patience easily. 

Their private little excursions were one of the few activities where everyone just sort of let go of all their hang-ups. Robb didn’t try to boss everyone around or pretend to be everyone’s protector. Jon felt every bit a Stark. Arya wasn’t sulking about being limited for being a girl. Sansa was able to set her proper manners aside and splash and laugh and get messy with the rest of them. No one felt the need to fight with each other. There were no arguments over who was the better fighter, over who was lord of Winterfell, over sewing or dresses or manner. None of the older children were afraid to play with the “babies”.

Because in the water, everyone stripped down. Robb and Bran shed their new, more lordly attire with the Stark sigils lovingly embroidered by their mother. Theon removed his expensive velvets with the krakens sewn on. Jon lost his hand-me-down clothing. Sansa took off her fine gowns. Arya yanked off the dresses she’s inevitably get dirty. Everyone stripped off their differences and jumped in with nothing but their underthings. And everyone was more or less the same in their underthings.

They were themselves when they swam.

Even Arya and Sansa got along in the strangest ways. Not only did they not fight, but they actually collaborated on things. Together, they came up with stories about mermaids and water dragons and ocean magic and performed little plays in the water with their siblings. Theon and Bran got into it as well, but it was mostly Sansa and Arya’s baby. 

Sansa even bonded with Jon, for she ended up helping him teach Arya and Bran to swim as well.

He was fourteen now, nearly a man grown, more uncertain about his future than ever. The Starks were all getting older. Jon’s place wasn’t secure. Robb would be Lord of Winterfell, Bran and even little Rickon were going to rule holdfasts in his name or become knights. Sansa and Arya were going to be ladies. But Jon? Jon was a bastard, unfit to inherit or rule a holdfast. He did not follow the Seven, so he could not become a knight. He was growing less sure of his place in the world every day.

Only when swimming with his siblings, did he feel any relief, any true place in the world. It was where he was fully accepted by all of them, not as a “half-brother”, but a full one. It was the place where he had his family before him, where he could be reminded of the people who loved him most altogether.

He truly felt it one day in the godswood, when Arya and Sansa had convinced him to join their latest play about a merman knight saving a beautiful mermaid from a sea witch and her evil kraken monster. They asked him, not Robb, ‘Because Robb always tries to control everything.’

They put their play on for Robb, Bran, Rickon, Jeyne Poole, Beth Cassel, Jory, Old Nan, Hodor, and even Septa Mordane attended. It was a childlike, amateurish tableau. Jon was the hero, Theon the kraken monster, Arya the ocean witch, and Sansa the beautiful mermaid. The roles were perfectly cast. Arya was great and terrifying as the fierce, crafty sea witch, not to mention funny. Theon worked the role of the lecherous, scary kraken monster a little too well. Sansa was perfect as the lovely mermaid, all innocent blue eyes, long red hair, and girlish cries.

The whole thing ended in a fake fight over the mermaid where Arya, Jon, and Theon just splashed each other before the kraken was finally forced to give up the mermaid to the hero. Making fake gasping noises, Theon handed Sansa over to Jon, then pretended to die. The play ended with Sansa in Jon’s arms, declaring him her savior and hugging him.

Everyone clapped and Sansa grinned at him. “You did so well, Jon! Thank you!”

She hugged him again and Jon looked out at the audience, smiling at the applause. But it was then, when he looked out onto the small collection of audience members that he noticed Septa Mordane wasn’t clapping. She was glaring. But he put that aside. He was having fun. Septa Mordane was Lady Catelyn’s creature, and she wasn’t going to like it that Jon played the hero instead of Robb. 

He was sure that the Septa would undoubtedly tell Lady Catelyn, who would complain and next play, Robb would be cast as the hero. Jon sighed. Well, he’d had his moment of triumph. He should enjoy it now. He had the next swimming date to look forward to as well. He and Sansa were going to teach three-year-old Rickon to swim.

Jon couldn’t wait for that, either. Another little Stark brought in to make their little swim club a bit bigger. He’d loved teaching the other kids. He loved the looks on their faces, like they felt he knew everything for teaching them this.

It was always fun, especially doing it with Sansa. He wasn’t close with the eldest of his two sisters. Outside the pools, she always called him half-brother. And she was too proper to engage in the type of adventuring the boys did with Arya. She spent almost all her time singing, sewing, reading, and gossiping with the Cassel and Poole girls, or learning with her Septa and mother. Jon sometimes felt he didn’t even really know her outside the pools. It was hard to think of her the way he thought of Arya.

But they’d be doing something together next swim date, teach Rickon to swim. Something only they could do. Their little brother was so excited, too. He talked about it constantly. Jon was anticipating it as well. He loved making his younger siblings happy, and lately, Sansa had seemed even more closed off than usual.

On the morning they were set to go swim, Rickon burst into Jon’s room with Shaggydog, jumping up on Jon’s bed. “Wake up! Wake up! You and Sansa are going to teach me to be a merman today!”

He’d been calling it that ever since he saw their play. He was sure learning to swim would make him a merman. He bounced up and down, his blue eyes alight with excitement. “Come on! Come on!”

Jon chuckled and pulled himself out of bed. He, Sansa, and Rickon were going to start early before the others arrived. They did this with the other lessons, so that their student could learn some basics in relative private and not have to worry about the others laughing at them as they tried to master the new skills. Sansa was likely already up and dressed and ready to go. Normally, she was the one who woke him up on teaching days.

When Jon and Rickon went down to the yards though, Sansa wasn’t there. “She must have gone ahead,” he told his little brother. “Let’s go to the godswood. I’m sure she’ll meet us there.”

His little brother nodded and skipped along as Jon led him out into the woods. But to his shock, Sansa wasn’t there. Sure she had to have been confused by the location, he checked the other swimming holes nearby and the moat. Rickon walked with him, confused.

When they found all the swimming holes empty, Rickon began to cry. “Doesn’t she _want_ to teach me? Doesn’t she think I’d be a good merman?”

Jon felt awful for his little brother, and more than a little angry with his sister. How could she forget? How could she do this to Rickon?

He brought Rickon back to the castle, promising to teach him on another day, soon. When he went to Sansa’s apartments, he found the door locked and banged on it.

“Sansa?! Where were you?! You were supposed to be with Rickon and I to teach him to swim! He’s crying!” 

“Go away!” She called out. “I don’t have time for that! I’m too grown up a lady to play those silly games!”

That just made him angrier. Sansa thought she was too much a lady? Too grown up? Jon was older. Teaching the younger kids to swim was their thing they did together. _Is she too much of a lady to teach alongside a bastard?_

“You’re not too grown up!”

“Yes I _am!_ Now go away!”

Jon tried to calm down. Clearly his sister was just in one of her moods. He should go back down to the swimming hole and teach Rickon himself. As he led little Rickon around the pool, showing him how to float and kick properly, he consoled himself. Likely Sansa would get over whatever it was and come down later with the rest. But she didn’t.

Jon got out of the water when he saw this. “Where’s Sansa?”

“Sansa’s not coming,” Arya told him.

“Why?!”

“Because she’s no longer a little girl,” Arya said, snickering, “She’s a growing maiden and lady and can’t be expected to swim with us.”

Theon made a disappointed noise. Rickon’s lip was quivering. “So Sansa will never swim with me?”

This was going too far. The swimming was supposed to be theirs completely, where they all belonged. She was a part of that! And now she was ruining it.

Jon wouldn’t allow that. He would tell her what he thought. _You think you’re such a fine, grown-up proper lady? Too good to swim with your siblings? You think you’re too good for us? Rickon is crying because you won’t swim with him. Is the lady happy about that?_  

Arya followed him out of the swimming holes. He was glad for it. His little sister always understood, always backed him up. Sure enough, she told him how after the play last week, Septa Mordane and Lady Catelyn had taken Sansa aside and gave her this long, private talk. Now, Sansa was acting even more haughty than usual. She was also getting more spoiled. “Mother’s been ordering all sorts of new clothes for her, too. Says it’s just because Sansa’s ‘growing’ but Sansa and I both are always growing and this is the most new clothing any of us have ever gotten. And she hoards it. Won’t even let me look at it. In fact, she’s been sending a bunch of the things back, saying they’re not right. I heard Mother and Father arguing over it. Father says it’s a lot of coin to spend all at once for clothes. But Mother has insisted Sansa do what she likes. She spends more time in her room, too. She even snapped at Beth Cassel the other day!” 

Every word made Jon angrier. He marched back to the family quarters, down the hall to Sansa’s room once more, and banged on the door.

“GO AWAY!”

“No, Sansa! You made Rickon cry! You should be out there swimming with us! You think you’re too much a lady to play with us? So stop being such a snob and grow up!”

“I _am_ growing up! So leave me alone!”

Jon laughed. He’d grown up far faster than any of his siblings. Sansa was in many ways still a little girl with her head full of dreams of romance and maidens and heroes. She was still prone to periods of childish spite and snobbiness. This was clearly one of those moments.

“More grown up than Robb and I? More grown up than Theon?”

“You don’t understand!”

“I do. You’re a stupid little girl who thinks she’s better than everyone else. Well, you’re not. And frankly, I don’t even want you to swim with us anymore. You’re a haughty brat and wet blanket. Nobody wants you there. We’re all sick of your stupid plays and stories anyways.”

Sansa screamed. “I hate you!”

“I hate you!” He yelled, furious.

“Well too bad! Someday I’m going to be a great lady to a great lord and all you’ll be is a bastard!”

Jon fumed, having no temper left. Sansa always called him half-brother, but almost never called him bastard. “I can’t wait! Father will sell you off and we won’t have to deal with you ever again!”

“Jon----“ Arya said, but the bastard of Winterfell ignored her. He’d heard Arya say worse things to Sansa.

He punched the door. A big mistake, as it hurt his hand like hell. Arya stared at him with big eyes. Jon leaned against the door and clutched his aching hand.

“Jon, that wasn’t nice,” Arya said.

“She deserved it.” He glared. “And it’s true.”

His sister winced. “Well, you know, I make up those plays too,” Arya reminded him, sounding a bit hurt.

Jon cringed. He’d not meant to insult his other sister. His sweet, fun, clever sister. His _real_ sister, not that horror hiding in her room. “I’m sorry. I like your stuff. Yours isn’t stupid, like Sansa’s. You’re not stupid or stuck-up like Sansa. Don’t listen to what Septa Mordane tells you. You’re better than her. Sansa’s only good to be married off to some ponce and have babies. You’re capable of more." 

Arya began to speak again, but Jon shook his head. His hand felt like it was about to shatter and he needed silence to process the agony.

But he didn’t get it.

Instead, when he pressed his ear to the door, he heard crying. Awful, gut-wrenching sobs. His heart sank and he felt drowned by guilt. Why had he said those things? She was his _sister._ Sort of. He’d just felt so angry with her. And he wasn’t sure why. Sure, she didn’t want to go swimming, so what? Disappointing Rickon wasn’t nice, but she didn’t deserve that.

He panicked. “Arya, that wasn’t very nice.”

“No, it was really mean, Jon. I mean, I don’t like how she’s been lately either, but Mother says she can’t help it. Why were you so mad, anyways? It’s just swimming.”

 _It’s not just swimming._ But even he knew that wouldn’t cut it to Arya. The sobbing grew deeper. Sansa sounded like she was in absolute pain.

“I’m going to go in and talk to her,” he whispered. “See what’s happening. Go guard the hall for me?”

Arya nodded and she called Nymeria and Ghost to her to go stand near the hall entrance.

Jon knocked at the door again. “Sansa, can we talk?”

“NO! GO AWAY, BASTARD!”

He cringed at the word. “Sansa…”

“GO AWAY!”

He lost patience and kicked in the door. Jon ended up regretting this decision.

For when he entered, he found Sansa’s normally spotless chambers covered in clothes. Gowns, kirtles, tunics, jerkins, stockings, all manner of things he couldn’t even recognize were strewn all over the bed, floor, and furniture. At first, he felt annoyance once again. All he ever got were hand-me-downs, but his father and Lady Catelyn spent plenty of gold on Sansa’s wardrobe. Lately, apparently, they spent more than usual. Enough to cause arguments between them. And Sansa was just throwing the fine things they gave her on the floor?

Then he spotted his sister. She stood in front of a full-length mirror with no gown, kirtle or even tunic. Jon had seen her in just her shift plenty of times when they swam.

But Sansa wasn’t wearing one of her bulky, flowy little shifts anymore. She wasn’t wearing a shift at all.

Not that she was completely naked, either. But she had on undergarments that Jon was not used to seeing. Normally, under her shift she had a set of long pantalets that went to the knee and stockings underneath. But now, her undersilk had undergone a radical change.

Her pantalets were now short, stopping at the tops of her thighs. You could see the ends of her stockings, stopping just over the knee and secured with blue garters. She had on a girdle of white linen. Above the girdle was a white structured piece of clothing that covered and held up two small breasts. 

Jon stepped back. _Where did those come from?_ Now that he looked, it got worse. She didn’t just have a bosom. She had a tiny little waist and her hips were there, too.

Sansa was crying, frantically grabbing for her dressing robe to cover herself.  “GO AWAY, JON!” She cried. “LEAVE!”

“I’m sorry!” He said, running off, terrified. His heart was pounding in his ears. He ran into his room, horrified. 

He sat down on his bed, completely ashamed of himself. He’d hurt her, humiliated her. Jon had no idea what was wrong with him. He laid down on his bed and buried his head in the pillows, willing the shame and the image of Sansa in her undersilk to leave his head.

Jon had no idea what was happening. Just a week prior, she’d been laughing and splashing around in the same linens as Arya. She was a little girl. All of a sudden, she had breasts and hips and was wearing women’s undersilk? She was twelve! Surely twelve-year-olds didn’t grow breasts, right?

A bit later, there was a knock on his door. A loud, harsh one. Jon knew it had to be Lady Catelyn or Septa Mordane or Father, eager to punish him. And he deserved it. He deserved to be flogged through the streets of Wintertown. 

 _An honorable man faces his misdeeds and accepts the punishment._ Jon pulled himself from the bed and stood. “Come in.”

The door opened and Sansa entered, fully dressed now in a gown of soft blue wool. He’d seen her in the dress before, but now it looked different to him. It had a sash of white satin that now looked less girlish and more… emphasizing. He flinched as she moved towards him, like she was some sort of deadly predator. She certainly looked as angry as any wild beast he’d ever seen. Lady walked behind her and for once, the direwolf didn’t seem calm. Even Ghost backed away from his litter-mate. 

“If you tell anyone, _anyone!_ ” she said, “I’ll make you regret it. I promise you.” 

“Sansa, I… I’m so sorry. I just… Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked, so confused and ashamed.

“Because I _can’t. Ladies_ don’t brag about their figures, or talk about those things in polite company, especially not to men. It’s _private._ It’s supposed to be _private._ I’m not supposed to be… like this. Not yet. Septa Mordane says it’s very early and that being like this so soon is a sign I… I’ll have trouble being a lady. That I have to act as proper as possible and try to hide it and try to keep any men or boys from knowing. _Father_ doesn’t even know. If I were to talk about it or share it, it would be displaying myself and I’d become wanton. If anyone were to find out, more people would look at me and people would start trying to despoil me. The others would tease me, too. I don’t want anyone knowing. So you _can’t_ tell.”

“I wouldn’t. I won’t.” He didn’t want _anyone_ knowing. A knot formed in his throat. “Sansa, I’m so sorry.”

Sansa glared. “You should be. What gives you the right to speak to a lady that way and burst into her rooms? I never believed Mother when she said bastards were more hot-blooded and dangerous. You always seemed calmer and gentler than Robb and Theon. Why would you do that?”

“I was angry, and then I felt bad when I heard you crying. I just wanted to know what was happening.”

“Well, now you know. Are you happy?”

He shook his head. He really wasn’t.

Sansa walked away then, Lady following her.

He wondered if Lady Catelyn or Lord Eddard were going to come for him next to punish him for acting like that. But that didn’t happen. Sansa seemed tight-lipped about the whole thing. She refused to speak to him, pulling away from everyone but Beth Cassel and Jeyne Poole.

Jon noticed her, though. All of a sudden, he noticed how often Sansa seemed to shift or fumbled with her clothing. She often looked uncomfortable and unhappy, and every time she had to alter her attire, she’d blush mightily.

Moons passed and Jon began to hate himself even more. First of all, he couldn’t get the image of Sansa in her undergarments out of his head. Secondly, it kept getting worse. Sansa kept growing. She shot up four inches over the course of six moons. A few moons following the incident, it wasn’t a secret anymore that Lord Stark’s eldest daughter was blossoming into maidenhood considerably. Not a month passed before Lady Catelyn had to order new riding jerkins for her daughter so that the stable boys wouldn’t gawk. 

Not that it helped too much. Sansa tried to keep her attire modest, but her gowns and tunics often grew too tight. After a while, it just became easier for her to don kirtles or lower-cut necklines. They gave her more room to grow so she didn’t have to keep re-altering and buying new dresses. 

When visitors came to Winterfell, inevitably someone would compliment Lord Stark on the beauty of his eldest daughter. “What is she? Fifteen, sixteen years old now?” Lord Karstark said, looking her up and down with an appraising eye. 

“Thirteen, My Lord,” Lord Stark replied, red-faced.

Karstark’s jaw dropped. “You sure about that?”

“Yes, Rickard, I’m sure.”

This sort of exchange took place often and always left everyone embarrassed. It got so that Sansa no longer seemed as eager to attend dinners with visitors, often claiming illness or fatigue. When she wasn’t there, guests would laugh and mockingly scold Lord Stark for “hiding that beauty away when we’ve heard so much of it.”

Even Arya felt sorry for Sansa at this point. She often brought her sister her meals when Sansa declined to dine with the rest of the family. One night, Jon’s youngest sister came to his room and sat beside him. “I used to be so jealous of her because she’s beautiful. Now I couldn’t stand to be like that.”

The only one who didn’t seem completely embarrassed by the whole thing was Theon Greyjoy. He started paying much closer attention to Sansa, suddenly acting far more gallant and well-mannered around her. A couple of times, he told off the workhands that stared at her, and chewed out servants he heard making rude comments. He escorted Sansa around the grounds multiple times, glaring at anyone who so much as looked at her, and was even sweet to the army of girls that often accompanied Sansa wherever she went. He told her all sorts of ridiculous stories, gave her flowers from the glass gardens, and suddenly seemed to take great interest in stories like Florian and Jonquil, Jenny of the Oldstones, and Queen Naerys and Aemon the Dragonknight. 

The worst part was, Sansa seemed to be falling for it. She blushed prettily at his compliments, allowed him to escort her places, and often sought him out when she wanted to take walks beyond the courtyard. When he brought home a good kill from his hunting excursions, she was always the first to praise the game and listened with rapt attention to his stories. She beamed when the meat he’d killed reached the Stark table. 

Both Robb and Jon were ready to kill him. One day on a hunt, Theon killed a group of black rabbits and gave the pelts to Sansa. That evening, Jon went to her room to speak to her. It was the first time he’d been in her bedchamber since the swimming incident, and when he entered, he felt completely awkward. Her rooms had not changed much, but she had. Sansa was sitting at her dressing table, brushing her red hair, which seemed to have darkened in hue, though it still had its coppery highlights when the light hit it.

Jon tried not to notice this. Or the smoothness of her pale skin. _Every other girl her age has spots everywhere and frizzy hair. Robb had acne. Why can’t she?_

She was in a violet gown, a pretty one lined and trimmed with white satin. She stood and faced him, her eyes hard and her stance guarded. That was agony to see. Sansa had not had a smile for him in many moons. She now regarded him with the same coldness her mother had for him. Jon and Sansa were never close like he and Arya were, but they were friendly. Not anymore. And it was his fault. 

“Thank you for seeing me, My Lady,” he said, trying not to sound too awkward. “I wanted to talk to you about Theon. He’s… He doesn’t have the purest intentions regarding you.”

Sansa seemed to consider this. “Very well. I’ll take that into account. Goodnight, Half-brother.”

“Sansa, please, I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t want your help. Theon’s kind to me.”

“He’s trying to seduce you. It’s an act.”

“I don’t care. Now leave.”

She seemed completely uninterested in listening to him. He’d violated the boundaries of her room once. Doing it again would not help things. Miserable, he left.

The next day, Robb threatened Theon in the armory. “If you lay one hand on my sister…”

 “I’ve done nothing improper. I’ve shown your sister every proper courtesy a lady is due,” Theon held up his hands, “The maid enjoys my company. You should be happy, Robb. I scare off the gawking servant boys and lecherous old louts among your father’s bannermen. I’ve been the perfect gentleman. Ask her.” 

“For _now_ , maybe. But I swear, Theon, if you cross a single line… lay a hand on her, say the wrong thing, I’ll geld you. I promise you, I will.”

Theon did not seem at all threatened by the boy five years his junior. “You’re still a boy, aren’t you? Sansa’s becoming a woman, and you still have yet to even come close to becoming a man. She’s a pretty, highborn maid blossoming with one of the oldest names in Westeros. It won’t be long until she has scores of suitors and a match for her is arranged. Your father’s probably considering options already. What are you going to do when she’s promised to someone? Threaten him as well? You going to fight off every lordling and knight that comes to court your sister? Threaten them all? I promise you, it’s unlikely to work.”

He snorted and walked away. “You’re not Lord of Winterfell yet, Robb. You can’t tell me what to do.”

Robb cursed and fumed, then looked at Jon. “I’m going to Father.”

Lord Stark nodded when he received his sons in his office. “I’ve been keeping a close eye on them. Sansa’s been warned. She’s a good girl, they’re always chaperoned, she promised to keep Lady with her when she’s with Theon. Sansa’s going to have suitors coming to Winterfell in droves soon. Half the letters I get from various lords of the North now mention her.”

“Why would they talk about Sansa?” Robb demanded. Lord Stark told his sons to sit down and he sighed.

“She’s of the age when a girl first flowers. Once that happens, she’s a woman in the eyes of the law. Even though she’s still very young and not of an age when marriage would be expected, she’s old enough to be courted and promised to someone. There is also a bit of confusion regarding her age.” He swallowed. “I’ve gotten many letters from people who seem to believe Sansa is in fact your twin, Robb. She may have the Tully look, but she has the Stark height and more. Unfortunately for her, she looks older than her thirteen years. And she’s beautiful. The prospects of the beautiful daughter of a High Lord gain the interest of a great deal of people once she’s reached a certain age. Especially one who is the granddaughter of another High Lord and the niece of the Hand of the King. There are a number of people eager to come to Winterfell now and attain the rights to her hand. I’ve even gotten letters from King Robert. His boy is only a year older than Sansa and not promised to anyone. Mace Tyrell of Highgarden has also written me. His letter doesn’t say anything about Sansa, but he did mention that his eldest son Willas is a bachelor.”

Jon’s stomach sank and twisted. For some reason, all of this made him angry. Very angry. He imagined a bunch of spoiled, pompous southerners in silks and gilded armor flooding into his father’s home, offering favors to his sister, offering her compliments and gifts.

“Theon is nothing. I’m keeping an eye on him. I know what he’s like and were he to lay a hand on Sansa, he’d regret it. But I’m letting him play his little game because I’d rather have your sister prepared for that sort of thing. Because there will likely be much more of it.”

Robb started to protest, but Lord Eddard held up a hand and reminded Robb who was Lord of Winterfell, “I believe I have a much better understanding of how to handle my daughter’s interests than you. You will not question me.”

When they left, Robb was fuming. “We can’t just allow this to happen. Father doesn’t know Theon like I do. We need to do something.”

“Like what?” 

“We should start spending more time with Sansa. Protect her. Look after her. We can be her chaperones. That way, Theon can’t try anything. Father can’t object.”

“Erm, I don’t know, Robb.” Jon did NOT want to tail Sansa wherever she went. Things between them remained uncomfortable for more reasons than one.

“I know she’s been a bit of a brat to you, Jon. But she’s our sister!”

 _Yes, she’s my sister._ Sometimes, though, it was near impossible to remember that. Like when she wore certain gowns. Or when she bent over. Or when she smiled. When she laughed. Even when she glared at him, it made him shiver because her eyes were just so very blue and brilliant.

Sometimes when he looked at her, he got so angry. _You’re supposed to be little and flat-chested and childlike. That’s my sister. What happened to her? Who are you?_

The worst part was that reminding himself that Sansa was, in fact, his sister, didn’t do anything to reduce the heat in his blood. Sometimes, it made it worse.

Jon swallowed. “Alright. But Sansa won’t be happy.”

“She’ll be safer. She’ll get over it. She used to run after us when we were children, eager to join our games, remember?”

 _That was that little girl,_ Jon thought unpleasantly, _The one with her bright red hair in braids, the one who carried her dolls everywhere and thought that butterflies were actually fairies who would grant you a wish if you caught one. Sansa’s not that girl. She’s a blossomed maiden with hair the color of blood and full lips and even fuller…_ He stopped himself there and cleared his throat.

“She might not be eager now.”

“Better she be a little put out than alone with some cad who’ll try to seduce her.”

Jon sighed. “Fine, Robb. I’ll… I’ll help you.”

“Thank you, Jon,” his brother said, smiling and putting his arm around him, “You’re the only person I can trust.”

Sansa, as it turned out, was _not_ happy. She regarded her older brothers with snide derision. This irked her half-brother. _We’re trying to look out for you._

But she couldn’t protest. Lady Catelyn wasn’t entirely enthusiastic about Jon, but she was proud of Robb for taking such an active interest in protecting his sister’s honor.

In response, Sansa seemed to go out of her way to provoke their anger. She became more accommodating to Theon than ever, laughing louder at his jokes, making more time to accompany him on rides and walks, leaving Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel behind more often, and making cloying comments during Theon’s boastful stories.

There was also her clothes. The necklines were all far from modest, either low or wide cut or with a deep enough V that when she bent over, one could easily see down her bodice. No one else seemed to notice this. Not Lord or Lady Stark. Not Robb or Arya. But Jon did, and Theon certainly did.

Then she asked Theon to teach her to shoot an arrow. Robb protested this vehemently, but the problem was Lord Stark couldn’t say no. He’d allowed archery lessons to Arya some moons ago and it wasn’t uncommon in the North for girls to learn for the hunt. He did, however, insist that Jon and Robb be Sansa’s teachers in this.

Of course, this didn’t stop the smirking Ironborn from occasionally helping her “practice”. Sansa was not a talented archer, but she was willing to let him guide her arms.

Jon caught Sansa “practicing” with Theon very early one morning. Technically, the Ironborn’s hands were where they needed to be. But he was very close, and his arms were around her. It took every ounce of self-control not to tear his head off.

“Jon, I needed the guidance. I’m hopeless. I can’t get my arms right and it’s easier for me to get the idea if I have someone guiding me,” Sansa said after Jon had pulled the Ironborn off his sister. “It was entirely innocent.”

“Prove it.” He growled, glaring at the heir to Pyke.

Sansa sighed and grabbed Jon’s hand, placing it on her wrist. “Here, if it bothers you so much, you help me instead.” 

“What?!”

“Come on, you can’t object to that. I just want to practice. You know how humiliating it is that my ten-year-old sister is so much better than me at this? Theon’s the best archer at Winterfell, but if you insist on being ridiculous, you help me.” 

“I don’t need to---“

“Well I need to get the feel for this.” She glared at him.

Theon scowled, looking extremely put-out. “I’m leaving. Sorry, Sansa, but your bastard brother’s a right pain in my arse. Another time, maybe?”

Sansa nodded sadly. She glared at Jon. “Well?”

He didn’t know what to do. She was looking at him expectantly. _She still hates me._ He didn’t want her to hate him. It mattered to him so much that she didn’t these days. Jon knew it was better if she did, but he couldn’t bear it.

“Fine,” he said weakly, knowing he was dooming himself. He moved up behind her as she grabbed an arrow and got into position. He put his hands on her arms. 

“Are my feet right?”

He glanced down and then wished he hadn’t. She was in hunting greens and a brown leather jerkin. Her tunic had a high neck, but parted down the middle and was partially open, as was her vest. He could see right between her breasts. He could feel the warmth of them. He could smell the scent of roses and cinnamon that clung to her. Little tresses of her red hair were being pushed back in the gentle morning breeze and teasing his face, and he could feel the swell of her arse against him. 

“Jon?” 

“Y-Your feet are… are..” He looked down again and tried to keep his eyes on her boots. “I, um…”

“My feet, Jon.”

Her stance was a little off. “A little wider,” he rasped. “And keep your toes forward completely.”

She moved, and Jon found himself regretting the correction. Her arse rubbed and wiggled against him. He tried to put some distance between her hips and his, achieving a rather awkward stance for himself. 

“Um… draw back. And relax.”

She kept her elbow too low. And she kept moving like she was doing one of her fancy dances, moving for grace rather than strength and flexibility. Rounded yet rigid. Jon sighed and tried to guide her properly.

 _Don’t think of her hair. Don’t think about how she’s biting her lip in concentration. Think about Septa Mordane’s legs or Hodor or the entrails of that deer Ghost and Grey Wind eviscerated last week._ But none of that was near him. Not Septa Mordane’s legs, Hodor, or those deer entrails. Instead it was Sansa with her soft, sweet-smelling hair and skin.

“Oh, okay, that feels right,” she whispered. She let the arrow fly. It hit the target. Not at the center, but closer than anything else he’d seen her do.

Sansa squealed in delight and laughed. “I did it!” She turned to him, a brilliant, beautiful smile on her face, bouncing up and down in excitement. And for the first time in a year, she hugged him. 

And she was so soft and warm and she smelled so good. Jon had to embrace her back. He couldn’t remember the last time someone, let alone a woman embraced him. Arya was the only one who hugged him regularly anymore, but Arya was his skinny little sister. This was something else. 

 _She’s your sister,_ he tried to remind himself. That only made his heart pound more.

“Jon?” Sansa sounded alarmed as she tried to pull away. Jon released her, reluctantly. “There was something… odd… near your hip.” 

Jon panicked. _No. No no no._

“It… It was my dirk. Strapped to my hip,” he said wildly.

She had an odd look in her eyes and for a second, Jon thought for sure she’d decry him as a lecher. Then there was this far-away look to her eyes, like she was in a trance. 

“…Sansa?”

She blinked a couple of time, then smiled. “You… you should be more careful with your knives. 

 _She can’t really believe me, can she?_ Jon gave her a hesitant smile. Surely Sansa knew… 

“I will, My Lady, I’m sorry.”

She backed away and it was then he noticed how deeply she was breathing. _She’s afraid,_ he realized. He felt utterly ashamed of himself, so much so that when she was gone, he just continued staring at his feet.

**Author's Note:**

> This MAY get a sequel.


End file.
